Because of You
by Chatte D'Ange
Summary: Your life will be crazy when your name is Speed. 2007 movieverse, with a few other things thrown in. First chap: a play on the saying "what goes around, comes around."


Because of You

Plot bunny: the words "terminal velocity"

Summary: Your life will be crazy when your name is Speed.

I know, I know, I have five other stories I ought to be working on (especially _Reverse,_ as I haven't updated it since October flinches), but I just couldn't help myself.

I laughed a lot when I wrote this. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

Just a heads up, in this particular 'verse the TFs are hermaphrodites.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Speed is mine.

* * *

As I help Ratchet peel the duct tape off of his tools (after waking up cellophaned to my berth and finding used coffee grounds mixed in with my personal energon supply), I silently vow that Condra will pay for "volunteering" me for this mission when I get back. The Twins are utterly out of control today, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it might have something to do with all that Dr. Pepper that they drank on a whim. How they got hold of a tub that large, I'm not sure I ever wish to know. I am curious, however, as to how in the world they got enough used coffee grounds to contaminate my entire ration supply, much less how they had the patience to dry them off so the grounds would soak up a good deal of my energon. 

I'd found the good doctor standing in the doorway to his medbay, staring in abject horror at his tools duct taped to the ceiling in a rather obnoxious pattern. (What it was I shall leave to your imagination.) Even though I have my orders not to become personally involved here (and have consequently been dubbed a "lone wolf"), I couldn't just leave the poor medic to deal with it on his own. I am not heartless (not in the metaphorical sense of the word), however aloof I may have to be.

So here I am, four hours later, still removing ribbons of the gunk from Ratchet's tools and muttering under my breath about all the horrible things I'll do to the red'n'yellow devils if I ever get my hands on them. Ratchet's horrified/depressed/frustrated look disappears as he looks up from cleaning a tool and stares at me in total shock. (I'm generally very quiet, and seen as the gentle recluse type of lone wolf, not the hardened I'll-bust-a-cap-in-your-tailpipe-if-you-talk-to-me sort that would make that type of threats.)

Ratchet sees the querying eyeridge cock I send his way and clears his throat. "I . . . just didn't see you as—as the sort of person who would think that way." Then he grins. "Although I would be perfectly willing to assist if you should decide to put one of your plans into action."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I go back to scraping glue gunk, then pause again. "You know, it's really too bad there are no ceiling fans that would hold a Transformer, let alone two of them . . ."

"What that would hold two Transformers?" The new voice startles me, as I haven't been scanning for anyone else to come in. I turn around to see Wheeljack.

"Er . . ." I've heard about Wheeljack's explosions. They're practically Ark legend. I don't want him trying to make a Transfomer-sized ceiling fan—I can see all kind of bad things happening with that. Ratchet sees the slightly panicked look on my face and comes to my rescue.

"Wheeljack, I'm glad you're here. I need you to test these tools and make sure they're still functional." He points at the pile of de-duct taped tools. "While you're at it, see if you can't get that glue off, too."

Wheeljack looks at Ratchet, his query forgotten, at least momentarily. "The Twins again?"

Ratchet sighs, which he has been doing a lot of since we started taking the tools down and stripping them of the ultra-sticky tape. "Yes." No more needs to be said.

Wheeljack retreats to his lab with the sticky pile of tools, and I settle in for the next half-hour of duct tape peeling. As I work, I try to figure out what to do about my energon situation. I can't survive on what I have in my subspace for long. Then a thought crosses my mind, one worthy of the Twins themselves. The look on my face must have been positively wicked, because Ratchet gave me a querying look.

"I just had an idea on how to teach our resident troublemakers not to drink anymore Dr. Pepper." Ratchet looks at me funny, and I explain about the vat of Dr. Pepper (and my suspicions on that being what set the Twins off), and my own reasons for wishing for revenge. I also tell him that I'd found out the hard way that depleted coffee grounds soaked in energon will knock a mech out. (Desperate, I'd tried to eat some of the stuff and only succeeded in eating a little bit before I'd conked out. I woke up two hours later.) As I explain my plan, Ratchet gets a look on his face that would have had me running out of the room screaming in terror, had it been directed a me.

"I would be perfectly willing to help you with that."

"Cool. Now, if you don't mind finishing the last few tools by yourself, I'm going to enlist some other help." Ratchet shakes his head, still grinning maliciously, and I walk out the door.

My entire plan hinges on getting the Twins to eat the coffee grounds they'd placed in my energon supply, and I can't think of a single plausible way that I could do that myself. Therefore, I need someone in authority in on the plan.

I walk down the hall, mulling over who would be best for the job. My problem is solved for me, however, when I find Prowl recalibrating his battle computer outside his office door. I peek in, and what I see inside would give a human male soldier nightmares for a month. Prowl's office is covered in a frightful vision of hot pink walls covered in light pink and lavender flowers and massive purple Barney the dinosaur stickers. The centerpiece of the dreadful scene is a massive printout of a Barbie doll in a negligee taped on the wall opposite Prowl's desk.

"As the humans would say, I believe you're the right man for the job. Well, mech." Prowl jumps at the sound of my voice, as he had been completely absorbed in repairing his fritzing battle computer. He gives me a dubious look and cocks and eyeridge at me.

"For what job?"

I explain the ways Ratchet and I were pranked and tell him my plan, and Prowl laughs so hard his computer fritzes again, and he nearly falls over. After righting himself, he asks, "So where do I fit into this?"

"I need you to somehow get them to eat those coffee grounds as punishment."

Prowl chuckles. "That's simple enough. I'll say that since they expected you to eat them, they can do so themselves." After a moment's thought, he adds, "You know, I didn't really peg you as the sort for this."

The Twins choose that moment to casually walk down the hall to inspect the effects of their handiwork, and I make myself scarce so that Prowl can do his thing. On the way back to Ratchet's lab, I take a detour to my quarters to download the specs he'll need onto a data pad. I deliver the pad to the still evilly-grinning Ratchet, and return to my room to wait.

Sure enough, I soon get a summons from Prowl, telling me to cart as many of the coffee-ground-filled energon cubes as I can carry down to his office. I trade the ones stored in my subspace for the coffee ones, and (after hiding my good ones) grab a double armload of the leftovers before traipsing down to Prowl's office on the other side of the Ark.

I struggle to keep a straight face (Prowl had decided to keep the source of the plan of retribution "confidential") at the look on Sideswipe's face when he sees me walk in carrying my burden. He pokes Sunstreaker, who looks sick when he turns around. I dump the things unceremoniously on Prowl's desk and say, "What're you going to do, make them clean them out?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Okay, then they can do these while they're at it." I pull the cubes in my subspace out by the armload, and plunk them down on the floor. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe turn more pale with each armload. I turn my head to face them as I pull out the last load. "What're you worried about? All you have to do is clean these things out. I personally think you're getting off lightly."

Sunstreaker mutters something that sounds like, "You don't know the half of it."

My part done, I wander out of Prowl's office and down the hall to the lounge to wait for my turn at the watch.

8888888

When I come in from my watch, I hear a couple of mechs talking about the Twins collapsing and getting sent to Ratchet, and I cover my grin. All according to plan. I stroll back in to the lounge and help myself to a cup of Sprite. We've found that non-caffeinated "pop" helps give a short-term energy boost without bad side-effects, and the soda companies love us for it. Or rather, they love the armed forces types who buy the stuff for us to protect us from exposure. Whatever. They'd love us if they knew it was us. Maybe we can use that to our advantage if the cat ever manages to escape its bag.

Later that day, I get a private comm. from Ratchet telling me that the Twins are awake. The medbay doors are conveniently open when I meander by. When he sees me peek curiously in, Ratchet asks them to transform "to make sure that your transforming servos have not been harmed." They do, and were I human, I would have wet my pants from laughing so hard. It's all I can do to remember to cover my mouth to muffle the sound.

I laugh even harder when the Dynamic Duo of Deviousness get a good look at each other and start screeching, _"What happened to your alt mode??!"_

Sunstreaker pauses. "Wait, what do you mean, _my_ alt mode?" He flips a u-turn and catches a glance of himself in the large mirror that Prowl is opportunely helping Wheeljack carry into his lab. He makes a strangled sound. His alt mode has gone from sleek Lamborghini to a Volkswagon Thing. To give you a rough idea, it looks like a Jeep mated with a Tracker. His paint has gone from sparkling golden yellow to a dull shade of color better suited to the confines of a dirty baby diaper. Sideswipe isn't much better off, his fire-engine red Lambo alt mode having been traded for a rust-red '76 Pacer DL Sport Coupe, which quite honestly defies description. (A/N You can look them up on the sites at the bottom of the page. Just have a barf bag handy and be prepared to cringe in utter disgust.)

The Twins transform back to robot mode almost simultaneously. They both stare in shock at the image of their altered armor reflected in the mirror, which is uglier than their car forms, if that's possible. Ratchet had done a very thorough job.

Sunstreaker suddenly falls to the floor in a dead faint. Sideswipe stares for a little while longer, then turns to Ratchet and asks, "Where did this come from? Is it a side effect?"

I can't hold it any longer and bust out laughing, attracting the attention of all those present. When I manage to calm down, I say, "No, it's payback for all those horrible pranks."

Sideswipe gapes at me. "Speed, this was _your_ idea?"

"Yup. And don't worry, it's not permanent. It'll only last a month, then you'll be back to your old alt modes. I had Ratchet use a temporary virus program to infect your servos and change your alt modes. The armor, though, is his own design."

Sideswipe gawks a little while longer, then throws back his head and laughs. "Speed, you're brilliant! That's hilarious!"

Now it's my turn to stare at him. "What?"

"Speed, this is the best prank I've ever heard of, and I've pulled off quite a few!"

"I honestly thought you'd have my hide for this one, and you're laughing at it!"

"Why not? I know genius when I see it, even if it's been used on me." He snorts. "Sunny, though, will probably be another matter entirely."

Prowl chortles. "If he gives him trouble, we can just use more of those coffee grounds on him, right, Speed?"

Sides looks at me again. "Those were your doing to?"

"Yeah. I found out about them the hard way, though."

Sides chuckles. "I should probably get Sunny out of here before he wakes up and hands you your tailpipe. Remind me to never get on your bad side again." He picks up Sunstreaker's unconscious form and starts for the door.

"Don't worry, I will. By the way, your alt mode is called a Pacer. Sunstreaker's is the Thing."

Sides starts laughing again, and has to use the doorframe as support. "How appropriate!"

* * *

Yes, I am evil. Oh, yeah, if you were highly confused by some content in the first few paragraphs, good. They did their job. And yes, it will cause problems for poor Speed in the future. 

If you have any ideas for pairings or stuff that happens later on, I'll take all the ideas I can get. I have a general storyline in mind, but actual events escape me, so chances are your idea will get used somewhere.

Please review, even if it's just to tell me that it's bad.

Replace the "dot"s with periods and the "(percent)"s with percent symbols to get a look at Sunny and Sides in their ugly car modes.

Sunny as the Thing (Sides' comment pertains to this car.)

blogs dot cars dot com/kickingtires/2006/10/carscomtop10 dot html

Click on "go here" in the opening paragraph and scroll down until you see the ugly yellow car. It really does look like a Jeep mated with a Tracker.

Sides as the Pacer

www dot shorey dot net/Auto/American/AMC/1976(percent)20AMC(percent)20Pacer(percent)20DL(percent)20Sport(percent)20Coupe(percent)20r3q dot jpg

I have no words for this car.


End file.
